


Constriction

by WaferBiscuits



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Descriptions of Unsafe Binding, Early Game Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Killings, Social Anxiety, Trans Hinata Hajime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaferBiscuits/pseuds/WaferBiscuits
Summary: Of course Hajime would be unlucky enough to be sent to this horrible island filled with strangers with only one binder that's one size too small for him.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 16
Kudos: 187





	1. Part I

“God dammit, come on!”

Arms flailing, Hajime doubled over and wrenched the binder over his shoulders. The coiled-up fabric scratched against his damp skin not fully dried from his shower. The binder crumpled on the bathroom floor, its fabric still curled like a tight rope, mocking. 

Hajime stared at it for a moment, fists clenched. He took a deep breath and tried to swallow his creeping panic. He still had at least twenty minutes before everyone was due to meet for breakfast. He could finagle this. 

It was just his luck that he’d be sent to this godforsaken island with only the one binder on his back, let alone it being his most ill-fitting one. He had others, much better and newer ones a size up at home. Not that ‘home’ existed beyond his dinky beach house. He had just not been able to find them when he was getting dressed that fateful morning.

So here he was, stuck with a medium half-tank. A half tank! On a muggy and hot as hell island! An island filled to the brim with strangers who didn’t know that he was trans, and who weren’t about to find out.

Hajime spared a glance at the mirror and cringed at the splotchy bruise that snaked around his chest. He had been binding more than he had ever had before, easily over nine hours a day. 

Monokuma, either intentionally or not, had stocked Hajime’s wardrobe with identical copies of the same dress shirt and tie combo. The clothing was affirming, yes, but tight and not nearly baggy enough to be able to skimp a day or two without binding. 

Tracing his fingers over the bruises, Hajime forced himself to take a deep breath and immediately broke into a loud, hacking cough. His chest burned. 

“Fuck.” 

Hajime had tried to find another binder, but there was always someone who’d pop in and steer him off course. The most recent was when he went to search in the commissary/warehouse, only for Chiaki to pop around a shelf and sleepily ask if he wanted to go do some arcade co-op. 

He had, for a fleeting moment, considered the possibility of asking for advice from Mikan. After all, who would know better about safe DIY alternatives to binding than the Ultimate Nurse herself? 

But no, he couldn’t do that. Hope’s Peak had been an opportunity for Hajime to go somewhere with a clean slate, to start anew. No matter how messed-up and weird his new school life was, he simply couldn’t out himself to a classmate, let alone one he barely knew.

There was a light knock on the door. Hajime stiffened. 

“Hey, Hajime!” a muffled and distinctly reedy voice called. “I’m sorry. I know it’s awfully presumptuous for someone like me to even have the gall to ask, and you’re more than welcome to say no…”

Great. Nagito.

“Hang on a sec, okay?” Hajime called back. He scrambled for the tossed binder and fumbled to uncurl the base fabric, trying to desperately ignore the sound of his own thumping heart in his ears. 

“Oh, of course!” Nagito called, his tone as syrupy as ever. “I’d wait hours if you told me to, you know. I mean after all-“

Hajime tuned out the rest of Nagito’s self-deprecating word vomit and worked his binder back over his shoulders. He blew out the air in his lungs and tugged down it over his chest as hard as he could, pain be damned, making sure he kept his fingers hooked under the fabric so it wouldn’t curl inwards. 

He hissed and clenched his eyes once it rested on top of his bruises. The pain was sharp, but only for a second before it dissolved into a depressingly familiar ache. 

Nagito wasn’t saying anything, which was fine by Hajime’s book. Hopefully he’d verbally exhausted himself for once. 

“I’ll be just another second!” Hajime grabbed a clean dress shirt (white and short-sleeved, like every other one he had) and buttoned it up as quickly as his shaking hands could manage. He yanked a tie from a hanger and looped it around his shoulders as he made for the beach house door. 

He tied it in a sloppy knot before opening it. 

“Oh! There you are! Good morning!” Nagito beamed. He brushed away a wispy lock of hair that tumbled over his eyes. “How are you, Hajime?” He sounded downright chipper. 

Unlike everyone else on the island, Nagito was the one person Hajime felt drawn towards, the kind of person who he could be friends with in less insane circumstances. It also helped that, like Hajime, his clothing was more than a little ill-fitting for a beach setting (a jacket? Really?).

And, like Hajime, he was a socially awkward outcast, albeit in a much different and much weirder way that made him interesting to talk to. Hajime would have been lying if he said he didn’t have a small kernel of infatuation for him.

Hajime forced a smile. “Apart from literally everything else, I’m doing okay,” he said, lying through his teeth. “What’s up?”

“You sure?” asked Nagito. His grin had flipped to a concerned frown. “You uh, and I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but you look a little pale. And the buttons on your shirt are a little uneven… and your collar is popped up.” He glanced to the side and scratched at his cheek. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I know I’m far from equipped to judge your fashion sense.” 

Feeling his cheeks burn, Hajime looked down and found that his buttons were off by one, with his top one undone entirely, forming an untidy makeshift V-neck. 

Shit. What if his binder was visible? Hajime quickly turned around and redid the buttons. “Guess I was in a hurry, sorry,” he mumbled. “I uh, kind of overslept a little.”

“That’s a real shame.” Nagito hummed in sympathy. He looked so genuinely concerned that Hajime instantly regretted the lie. “I get the impression you’re the kind of person who really likes to take the day head-on, being a usual early-riser.” 

“Uh, I guess?” Hajime folded down his collar and willed his face to stop burning. It felt more than a little weird to have his sleeping patterns get dissected by an acquaintance. “Do you like waking up early?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from himself.

Nagito shrugged. “Oh, more or less than anybody else. Sometimes my luck makes it so that I wake up at different times, like right now, for instance!” He smiled. “I was lucky enough to catch you at your cottage before you left for the restaurant.” 

“Huh. Well, I’m flattered?” Hajime looked everywhere but directly at Nagito’s face, more aware than ever of his binder cutting into his skin. “That uh, your luck was good, I mean. I think. I mean, I’m assuming that’s good?”

“Absolutely!” To his credit, Nagito either didn’t notice or ignored Hajime’s stammering. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t get to ask and I don’t want to be presumptuous, but did you want to walk with me to the restaurant?” He held up his hands in front of his narrow chest, his expression sheepish. “Like I said, I get it if you you’d rather walk alone.”

“No, no I’d love your company, Nagito.” Hajime tried his hardest to sound casual. His chest ached, he could barely get a whole breath in, and he wasn’t sure if he was being flirted with or not. Was that egotistical to even consider? Or was that just him projecting a schoolyard crush? 

Nagito looked relieved. “I’m just glad I haven’t been annoying you too much,” he said.

“You really seem to beat up on yourself a lot.” Hajime frowned. “You feeling okay?”

“Oh, you know… I wonder what Teruteru made this morning.” Nagito stepped back and gestured for Hajime to follow. “Shall we?”

Hajime sighed. “Let me lock my door.” Had he been less uncomfortable, he might have bothered to confront Nagito on his less than subtle change of subject, but whatever. He could take a hint and there’d be other times to address it. Hopefully. 

Some of the other students were already making their way out of the ‘hotel’ block and towards the pool. As Hajime worked with his lock and key, he heard heavy footsteps. 

“Hinata! Komaeda!” Nekomaru bellowed, towering over them both. “What are you standing around for?” Loud as he was, he wore a good-natured grin. “If you loiter around too much, me and Akane’ll vacuum up all the grub without you, you know.” He slapped Nagito on the back hard enough to make him yelp and stumble. “Lord knows the both of you could use some meat on your bones…”

“Hey, Nekomaru.” Hajime pocketed his keys. “Sleep well?” 

“Like a baby!” Nekomaru chortled. “Gotta say, this whole impromptu island vacation might turn out pretty well.”

Speak for yourself, Hajime thought bitterly to himself. Nekomaru was the type of person who he was wary of, the kind of guy who seemed nice enough until he found out you weren’t ‘really a man’ and kicked your teeth in. He couldn’t really explain why he got that vibe. Maybe it was unfair. Either way, better safe than sorry. 

Nagito, wincing, rubbed his shoulder and smiled up at Nekomaru. “We were just heading over,” he said, his tone neutral. 

“Excellent! Well, let’s see some hustle, yeah?” Clapping his meaty hands together, Nekomaru turned and practically sprinted down the boardwalk and towards the restaurant. 

“Geez.” Hajime sighed. “I’ll never understand jocks.”

Nagito laughed in that raspy way of his. “Me neither, honestly. Though, who else could be an Ultimate Coach but him, right?” 

“I guess so.” Shrugging, Hajime took a breath and tried not to wince. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” Nagito smiled and led the way.


	2. Part II

One thing that Hajime found difficult about his new island life, apart from the constant difficulty breathing, was the soundscape. So used he was to living in a city that being in any kind of nature-dominated environment was a huge culture shock. He was still acclimating to it even after weeks of imprisonment.

Nagito wasn’t one to chitchat much on short walks, and that was a big reason why Hajime enjoyed walking with him as much as he did. It gave him time to think and listen, to ground himself for the day ahead.

As the boys strolled down the boardwalk bridging the cottages to the main hotel office, Hajime focused on the creak of the wooden planks under his feet. He closed his eyes and strained to hear the sloughing of ocean waves from the beach over the rustling of palm fronds. 

He sighed, ignoring the aching in his chest, and took as deep of a breath as he could manage. The air smelled perfect, tangy with salt with an undercurrent of chlorine from the hotel’s pool. A light breeze blew in from the ocean, odorous with seawater rot. 

“Feels nice today,” said Nagito, his voice hushed. 

“Yeah.” Hajime shivered a little at the wind, feeling the chill of beaded sweat on the back of his neck.

“Wonder what Teruteru made for breakfast.”

“Hm.”

Nothing more was said between the two, and neither did they meet anyone on the way to the restaurant. It was clear that they would be the last stragglers to arrive. 

As they reached the building, Nagito stepped ahead and took the door. He held it open for Hajime with a silent smile. 

“Thanks.” Hajime quickly stepped into the gaudy lobby. He could hear an orchestra of clinking silverware and chattering from upstairs. Smells of cooked eggs and bacon cut through stale air. 

Teruteru seemed hell-bent on impressing everyone with his cooking skills. He had a knack for astounding everyone with countless custom-made dishes based on their unique flavor profiles that he had gleaned from the past few weeks of their island life. 

Honestly, Hajime found that more than a little weird considering Teruteru’s infamy for being a total, well, playboy. There really wasn’t a more delicate way to put it. The man was a sleazebag, and he knew it. And he reveled in it. 

As soon as Hajime and Nagito reached the top of the restaurant steps, Teruteru swept over to them faster than anyone else could glance up from their plates.

“Hinata! Komaeda!” he cried. Short as he was, he had to crane his head up to meet their eyes. “Good morning! Good morning, indeed! Just the two delightful twinks I wanted to see, eh?” His plump face crinkled in a façade of a sweet smile. “Much more palatable than our baby-faced Yakuza friend.”

“Excuse me?!” Fuyuhiko shot up from his chair with enough force to knock it backwards. It clattered on the ground and silenced the group. “What did you just say, asshole?!” he spat.

Another day, another pointless squabble. Hajime was already tired of it. He brushed past Teruteru and took a chair from the nearest empty table. Nagito trailed behind him and took a neighboring seat. 

Whether from stupidity or arousal, Teruteru wasn’t the least fazed. His beady eyes glittered in intensity. “Goodness, aren’t you a little firecracker?” He breathed.

Fuyuhiko scowled. “Fuck you. You’re just a cook, and I don’t tolerate the lower caste treatin’ me like I’m lesser, you hear me?”

“Hear, hear.” Byakuya, from his lone table, daintily cut into his fried egg. “Crass as he may be, he speaks the truth. Frankly, it’s obscene how often the cook steps over the line that separates the pauper from the elite.”

Teruteru seemed to wilt. “Chef, not cook…” 

As he scuttled back to the kitchen, the dining area’s awkward silence bled back into some kind of chattering normalcy. People had their cliques well-established and every table’s group was more or less the same group of people every day. 

Fuyuhiko and Byakuya were the only people who still insisted on sitting by themselves.

Hajime watched silently, barely offering a murmur of gratitude when Teruteru inevitably emerged to bring him and Nagito a couple of plates filled with a generous portion of something that looked like- 

“Waffles?” Nagito asked. “And what’s this yellowish stuff?”

Teruteru’s wilted frown instantly brightened. “What do you think? Thought I’d go for a bit of a home-style, comfort food flair this morning with some sweet potato waffles and buttered grits.” 

“Smells good! Very… savory,” said Hajime, feeling sweat pearl his forehead both from the steam of the food as well as the general awkwardness of being around Teruteru for more than three minutes without some form of come-on getting thrown his way.

He felt a sharp ache in his chest. It felt like someone had just thrust a sewing needle between his ribs. 

Hajime’s breath hitched. He took a breath through his mouth. 

Nagito and Teruteru were still talking. They didn’t seem to notice. 

Risk be damned. Hajime quickly reached up and felt for the hem of his binder over his shirt. He pinched the edge and pulled to stretch the elastic away from his chest. 

He breathed. Really breathed. He sucked in a lungful of cool, food-stinking air and felt his vision grain up for a second. It was a sensation that had made him panic the first time. Nowadays, he was used to it. 

Hajime let go of the binder hem and winced as it snapped back into the indent of his skin. He shut his eyes and exhaled through his nose. 

“Uh, Hajime?”

“Yeah?” Hajime could only hope he sounded nonchalant enough to be believable, rather than terrified that Nagito had just seen him adjust his clothes. 

Or worse, that Teruteru had seen.

But when he opened his eyes, it was just Nagito. The steam from the plates shrouded him and gave his face a ghostly look. It made his facial expression difficult to read.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he was asking. 

“What makes you keep asking that?” Hajime forced himself to grab for a fork and make a big show of shifting his food around. He wasn’t hungry.

“Sorry, sorry!” Nagito laughed that raspy laugh of his and scooped up a forkful of grits. “I don’t mean to smother you, Hajime. Call it paranoia.” He paused to take a bite and hummed thoughtfully. “Geez, this is greasy…”

“Paranoia?” Hajime prodded. He swirled his own portion of grits into a spiral pattern. 

“Well, my luck cycle has to make a turn at some point, right?” Nagito speared a chunk of waffle and ran it through the grits. 

Hajime wanted to ask what the hell that meant. He also wanted to muster up some kind of appetite. 

He felt thirsty all of a sudden, but there weren’t any water glasses or cups in sight. 

So much for the ultimate cook, Hajime thought to himself. Forgetting drinks? 

God, his chest hurt. Barely 10AM and he was already reaching his limit for the day. Pathetic. 

“Hajime?”

Shit. He had spaced out again.

Feeling his legs quiver, Hajime forced himself to stand. “I’m gonna head to my cottage for a sec,” he mumbled. “I, uh, forgot something.” 

His head was starting to get fuzzy. If he didn’t peel off his binder soon, he was going to pass out. And that couldn’t happen. 

Nagito frowned. “Do you want me to come with? I can get us some boxes for the food or something.”

“No!” Hajime snapped, louder than he intended. 

Conversations stopped dead in the water, like someone had paused a crowd scene in a movie.

Everyone’s heads turned, expressions ranging from surprised to malicious to puzzled. 

Hajime stared back. He would have blacked out then and there if his knees hadn’t been unlocked. 

“Uh…” He could feel how red his face was. “Um, sorry.”

Nagito turned and smiled at the crowd. “Hey, anyone else think we should do a combing of the beach for our search today?” he asked. “Hajime disagrees with me. I mean, I know we already looked, but it’d be worth it if something helpful washed up overnight, right?” 

Someone replied. Hajime couldn’t make out who it was. He was already hurrying down the stairs to the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took as long as it did. Work can really kill my drive, but that doesn't mean I'm not chipping away at this when I can! Kudos and comments are always loved and cherished. c':


	3. Part III

“Stupid. I’m so stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Hajime gasped out one word for every trembling step he took. He could feel how damp the inside of his collar was getting. He probably had sweat stains in his pits too. Great. Fantastic. 

God, he was so stupid. Now everyone probably assumed he was weirder than ever. He’d get pushed even farther out into the periphery of the island’s pecking order and Nagito would probably steer clear of him too. Awesome. There goes one friendship right down the drain.

Hajime walked as quickly as his shaking legs could manage. He couldn’t run. That would just make his chest ache more than it already was. His vision was static at the edges and the ocean waves pounded like muffled white noise in his ears.

His hand twitched as he tried to fish his cottage key from his pocket, his fingertips numb. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He hadn’t been for a while. 

“Ah!” Hajime yelped, his arms pin wheeling as he nearly tripped over the boardwalk leading to his cottage. He caught himself and screwed up his face in pain, his breath hitching.

It took him more than a few attempts to work the key in the lock. His hand seemed to move on a delay from his brain, slow and sluggish. It was like he was drunk without the fun of it.

“Come on, come on…” 

Finally, the knob twisted. Hajime all but jumped inside and slammed the door behind him. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Hajime worked the buttons of his dress shirt. He tried not to strangle himself to get his tie off. 

He let the shirt fall from his shoulders. His tie followed shortly behind. 

“Okay, slow and steady.” Hajime exhaled as much air as he could manage, crossed his arms, and hooked his index fingers under the binder’s hem. He hissed at the extra pressure against the bruising. 

He could almost hear the elastic unsticking from his skin. Had he really been sweating that much? 

“Come on, I just showered,” Hajime whined under his breath. He flipped the half tank over his head and let it crumple on the floor. 

He didn’t realize just how much he was shaking until he peeled off his slacks and tossed them to the side. No sense in bothering to have one pile of laundry. Might as well have a minefield of clothes everywhere. It made it feel a little more like home. 

Hajime stood in the middle of his cabin wearing nothing but boxers and feeling extremely sorry for himself. He dared to look down. 

“Shit.” Yeah, it was bad. 

The bruising around his chest was an ever darker shade of purple with some concerning black tinges at the edges. That probably wasn’t good, was it? 

Swallowing thickly, Hajime snapped his head back up and wobbled towards his unmade bed. He tried to fight a creeping tide of panic. No sense in getting an anxiety attack right now. What’s done is done. 

Random spikes of raw pain radiated through his chest as he bent down and shakily slid under the covers. The fabric clung to his skin. It had gone tacky after the sweat had cooled and dried. 

Even rolling over onto his back was painful, but at least lying prone put less pressure on his ribs. 

Hajime wasn’t the kind of person who cried often. If anything, he found the act of crying to be really difficult and ultimately more exhausting than it was worth in catharsis. 

Still, tears beaded the corners of his eyes, just enough to pool but not enough to spill over. He stared at the popcorn textured ceiling of his cabin and tried to will sleep to come. Sleep would help. 

Risking a deep breath, Hajime sighed. He closed his eyes.

Someone knocked at his door and the panic flooded back. 

“Hello?” It was Nagito. “Hajime? Are you in there?” 

Hajime grit his teeth and stiffened. Of course Nagito would follow him back. Why wouldn’t he? He was his friend. Friends checked on their friends when they fled disastrous social situations. 

His foggy brain tried to think of something. Should he pretend he wasn’t in? Tell Nagito to go away? Say he was fine and urge Nagito to go off with the others for the day?

“Hey, Hajime. It’s Nagito,” Nagito called. He was clearly straining his voice to be louder. His vocal fry was in full force. “I saw you go towards this way from the restaurant. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.” 

Hajime felt his heart race. Inviting Nagito inside wasn’t an option. He couldn’t. There had to be another possibility. Too bad one of them couldn’t be to play dead. 

“Uh..” Hajime cleared his throat and winced. “Hey, man! Sorry I skipped out earlier. Thanks for covering for me.” God, he sounded so fake. 

“Hajime, I’m worried. I know I’ve been saying it a lot, and I’m sorry that it’s probably really annoying to hear me say it so much, but it’s the truth.” Nagito’s voice had gone quiet again, and Hajime had to strain his ears to hear him clearly. “I can tell you’ve not been doing the best, if that’s okay to say.”

“What gave you that idea? I mean, can you blame me for being a little on edge?” Hajime had to stifle a groan though. Of course Nagito was more perceptive than his chill and laid-back nature had led on. He was an idiot to assume that he wouldn’t notice. 

The door shuddered slightly. Nagito must have leaned into it. “I don’t blame you for anything, Hajime, but I can’t help but notice that you seem…. stiff.” 

Hajime snorted. Well, of course he seemed ‘stiff’- if he wasn’t having trouble breathing, he was moving around like an awkward marionette. Wearing too small of a binder also meant he had progressively more trouble twisting at the waist and bending over. 

The doorknob creaked. “Can I come in?” asked Nagito.

And there it was. The one question he was waiting for and dreading. 

“Uh…” Hajime paused. He wet his lips and balled his sheets in his fists. “I think I might need some space alone right now… no offense! It’s like, not personal, or anything. I just…” He hated how feeble his own voice sounded in his ears. 

“Hey, it’s okay!” Nagito cut him off. “I really understand. Sometimes it’s like that.” 

Hajime turned his head towards the door. “Yeah?” 

“Sure.” Nagito chuckled. “I mean, I also totally get why you wouldn’t want someone like me around, but I get the impression this isn’t that…” He left a pregnant pause. “…Right?”

“Nagito, I really don’t get why you’re so self-deprecating.” Hajime sighed and turned back to the ceiling. He let his eyes shut. “But I can at least tell you, totally honestly, that what’s going on with me has nothing to do with anyone here, including you. It’s my problem.”

“I see…” Nagito trailed off. “Okay, then how about this?”

Hajime almost spat out something rude, some crude way of demanding Nagito to just leave already. He was tired, hurting, and just wanted to sleep. 

But at the same time, he couldn’t will himself to push away the one person who seemed give any kind of damn about him. 

So, instead of telling Nagito to fuck off, he said “how about what?”

“How about I go back to the dining hall and ask Teruteru to package up a doggy bag for you? I’ll bring it back and leave it outside your door, or I can crack open the door just enough to slide it inside and close it. Call it a no-contact delivery.” Nagito laughed then, like he was delighted with his own joke. 

“I…” Hajime faltered. He didn’t know what to think other than blind panic from having a cute boy offer to do something sweet for him. He tried not to choke on his words. “I would be incredibly grateful for that, Nagito. Thank you.” 

“Of course, Hajime.” 

Hajime could hear the warmth in those words. The tears that had welled up in his eyes dribbled over. He tried to blink them away. No good.

He heard Nagito’s footsteps echo from the doorway and down the boardwalk. It probably wouldn’t take him that long to come back, ten minutes at most. Plenty of time to pull himself together. 

“You’re pathetic,” said Hajime, both to himself and to no one. “Totally pathetic. First you can’t even remember your talent, then you get sucked into some bullshit killing game, and now you can’t even bind more than an hour.” He hated how blubbery his voice sounded in his own ears. 

Sleep had never sounded better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments and support. I can't describe how much they mean to me ;; Next chapter will likely be the last!


	4. Part IV

Hajime wasn’t sure when exactly he had dozed off. He wasn’t the type to nap, but the weeks of feeling uncomfortable at best and borderline blacked out at worst were catching up to him. 

One thing he knew for certain: getting that binder on again was going to sting. His chest ached at the very idea of it. Still not as bad as the dysphoria, but getting there. Almost.

Maybe he should talk to Mikan after all. Didn’t medical professionals take an oath of confidentiality or something? Maybe, but that might as well get thrown out with the bathwater along with everything else that made sense on this island. 

His thoughts trailed off as he drifted into a half-sleep. He thought he heard excited yelling from outside, either Ibuki or Hiyoko. It was faint. The rest of the students were probably combing the beach after all. 

Well, whatever kept their spirits up, right? Every little bit of hope deserved to get clung to. They’d all lose their heads if they didn’t, and then the possibility of a ‘killing game’ actually happening would loom closer than ever. 

All this time Hajime had been keeping himself strong. He did whatever he could to keep himself optimistic to combat Nagito’s pessimism and above all else, to remember his talent. 

He knew it was short-sighted and naïve. The stalemate that everyone had set, that absolutely no one would kill each other, was going to crumble sooner or later. Hajime could feel it. It was only a matter of time. 

“Hajime?” 

Bleary-eyed and disoriented, Hajime let himself wake up. His cottage’s ceiling faded into view. “Huh?” He was lying on his back, a comforter pulled halfway up his stomach. 

“Hajime, are you awake?” Nagito was tapping at the door. “I got you your breakfast from earlier. I told Teruteru you weren’t feeling well, so he added some plain toast too.” 

“Yeah, I’m awake,” Hajime groaned. His voice croaked. “Thanks, Nagito.”

“Sure. Do you want me to leave it outside your door?” Nagito seemed to shuffle from the other side of the door. The bag he was holding must have been plastic. It kept crinkling. 

Hajime didn’t say anything. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed at his comforter and pulled it to his bare shoulders. Craning his neck, he looked down and scrutinized every conceivable fold and bump on the bed’s surface. 

“Hajime, you okay?”

“One second!” Hajime stared down at himself. He didn’t know why, for all of his anxiety on risking it all, he was thinking of doing exactly that. It was impulsive.

The comforter was a thick, quilt-like blanket. It was puffy enough to shield most body types and turn anything into an indiscriminate lump. His chest would be completely obscured. 

Was it worth the risk?

“Hajime?”

Yes. He was. 

“Hey, Nagito?” Hajime called. He ignored the pain in jostling his bruises and shuffled himself even further under the comforter. The fabric brushed against his chin. “If you still want, you can come in.” 

“You sure?” The doorknob began to turn. It stopped. “I’m not making you feel obligated or anything just because I brought food, right?” 

Hajime thought before replying. Was it that simple? His gut said no, he didn’t think so. 

“I just…” Hajime faltered and finally sighed. “I just feel tired of being alone, I guess.” 

That seemed to satisfy Nagito. The doorknob twisted all the way and the door creaked open. 

Nagito poked his head in. He looked nervous, but smiled. “Hey, Hajime.” 

“Hey, Nagito.”

“Sure it’s okay for me to come in?” 

It hurt too much for Hajime to do anything more than turn his head to the side. He mustered up a tired smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.” 

Nagito walked inside, and Hajime sighed in relief when the door clicked shut. 

The full weight of a realization hit Hajime right then. He was in his boxers under a single (albeit thick) cover, practically naked, in a very small room with a guy he had a crush on.

Hajime couldn’t have felt more vulnerable and small. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea. Maybe he should just ask Nagito to leave. He was a chill guy. He’d understand.

Instead Hajime said “feel free to sit wherever.” It was a stupid thing to say when there was nowhere to sit other than on the bed itself. 

Nagito, bless his heart, didn’t seem to mind. He held up the bag. “Did you want this now, or?”

“Uh, not right now.” Just the idea of food nauseated him. 

“Sure.” Nagito went over to set the bag on the entertainment stand next to the cheap looking hotel TV that didn’t even work. “Let me know when you want it.”

“Yeah, thanks…” 

“So, uh… is it alright to sit here?” Nagito asked, clearly sheepish. He gestured to Hajime’s bedside.

If Hajime could snap his fingers and dematerialize into a puddle right then and there, he would have. “Yeah, that’s alright.”

His expression neutral, Nagito looked at Hajime in the eye for a bit too long before finally sitting down. The mattress springs creaked under his weight. 

Silence again, but not the comfortable silence that Hajime was used to whenever he went on walks with Nagito. This was more of an anticipatory silence, where his heart kept thumping in his ears and there were conversation threads hanging around that needed to get plucked down. 

For a moment he almost forgot how physically uncomfortable he was. He had graduated from Physical Pain Trainee to Anxiety Pro. 

Nagito was the one who finally said something.

“So, you don’t seem to be doing all that great.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I don’t know what it is exactly, but I can tell it’s getting worse.” 

Hajime tried to force himself to relax and looked back at the ceiling. It hurt to keep straining his neck to look at Nagito. “You’re right.” Even if it wasn’t close to a full truth, it still felt relieving to say it.

Nagito hummed. “Before I left with your leftovers, Mikan asked me how you were doing.”

“What’d you say?”

“Just my truth of it, really,” Nagito laughed, “that I don’t know. That’s all.”

“Ah.” Hajime exhaled, relieved, but felt a little guilty at even being relieved in the first place. “Thanks, Nagito.” 

Nagito was quiet for a moment. “There’s really nothing to thank me for, you know. If I had said the wrong thing, even by accident, you wouldn’t be thanking me.”

“I, uh, I guess?” Hajime stuttered. “That’s kind of a weird thing to speculate on, though.”

“What can I say? I’m a pessimist.” Nagito laughed again, but it came out more bitter and less airy, like he was congested or something. 

“You keep saying that, you know, but I’ve never really gotten it. Isn’t it a little ironic that the Ultimate Lucky Student is a pessimist?” 

Nagito didn’t reply. 

Hajime couldn’t see him, but he could feel Nagito’s posture stiffening from the way the mattress moved. He wasn’t putting all of his weight on it anymore. The springs squeaked.

Shit, had he something wrong? Hit a sore spot? It was hard to tell. He felt himself start to sweat again and forced himself to keep his mouth shut.

He could hear Nagito breathing, but only because Nagito was a bit of a loud breather. He sounded more like he was wheezing than breathing. Just another one of his idiosyncrasies. 

Bracing himself, Hajime forced himself to turn his head and glance to the side. He couldn’t make out Nagito’s face. His flossy white hair kept his face hidden. He was leaned over, still holding his arms against his narrow legs. 

A few minutes passed before Hajime reached his limit. He had to say something. “Hey Nagito, I’m sorry if I said something wrong. I didn’t mean to like, dig anything up or anything for you.” 

“There’s a binder on the floor.”

Nagito had said it so calmly and so surely that Hajime thought he had imagined it. He felt like the top part of his skull had been seared off. 

So all he said was “huh?” 

“That’s what that is, right?” Nagito asked. He didn’t sound surprised, or angry, or upset. He just sounded infuriatingly neutral. “That tan thing?”

Hajime didn’t know what to say. He was already tense, but this was a whole other level. He was panicking now. His palms were sweating into his sheets. He couldn’t get air into his lungs. He felt cold. 

Nagito shrugged and chuckled. “Wow, Hajime, you really go above and beyond, huh?” 

“What?”

Nagito turned to him. “That’s one thing I really like about you. You always go above and beyond in getting practical stuff for everyone.” He was beaming. “I’m pretty sure I overheard Ibuki calling you something like ‘our resident Santa Claus’ or something after you gave her that tuning fork last week. You’ve got a reputation.”

“I… I do?”

“Yeah, I’m honestly still pretty amazed you were able to figure out how much I liked coconut juice. That was some pretty impressive intuition, especially for someone you’ve only known for a couple weeks.” 

Hajime could feel his face tingle. He always felt his face go numb when a mild panic attack was about to rear its ugly head. “Oh… I just guessed. I don’t know. It just seemed like something you’d like, and it’s not like there’s much else to do here.” Except for look for a larger binder, which he had never been able to get done in discretion. 

He’d go to the commissary to look, only to come out with mineral water to hand to Akane. He’d go to the airport to look, only to find some random silver ring on the ground that he thought Hiyoko might like. 

And if he wasn’t successful in his search, someone would run into him and strike up conversation. It was always one or the other, just by nature of stuffing sixteen people on to two dinky islands.

Nagito snorted. “You’re too modest. You may not remember your Ultimate talent, but you’re clearly skilled in being able to read other people.” 

“Uh. Thank you?” It was like whiplash. Hajime tried to pick apart where Nagito was going with all of this.

“Hey, no need to be modest!” Nagito’s smile faded, less bright but more soft. Fond. “I, for one, think it’s more than a little nice of you to get something like that for someone. It shows the true extent of your consideration for others.”

It clicked then. Hajime still couldn’t feel his face, but his breathing evened out as it hit him. 

Nagito looked back at the floor, probably back at the binder itself, then back at Hajime. “You know, I’m definitely not an expert on this kind of thing, but that looks kind of small for even the smallest person in our group, don’t you think?” he asked. 

His mouth felt parched, but Hajime still found words. “It does? Huh… I guess I didn’t estimate the size right.” The lie sounded so lame coming from him. “Maybe I should-“

“Wait!” Nagito put his hands up. “I don’t want to be able to guess who it’s meant for. I mean… I don’t know much about this stuff, admittedly, but I feel like something like a binder is pretty personal.” 

“Yeah…” Hajime murmured. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

God, he was real bonehead for not getting it earlier. Stress or not, anyone with a half-working lightbulb would have been able to see it. 

He tried to read Nagito’s expression. He really tried. He looked at him right in the eyes. 

And Nagito just looked back at him with a faint smile and warm eyes. There were no clues there, only a picture of passivity. No spark of insight whatsoever. 

Hajime’s neck was straining to maintain its position. He let his head roll back and felt himself relax. Just a little. 

“So.” Nagito must have shifted then, the mattress sank and rose as the springs settled. “I may not know who you were looking to get a binder for, but I have an idea.”

“An idea?” Hajime felt his heartrate spike. 

“Yeah, there’s that one shipment crate of some mixed-up binders and tape in the back room of the commissary, right?” 

Hajime swore he felt his stomach lurch. He nearly spluttered out something that would have ended the whole farce. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut and forced himself to nod.

Nagito clearly hadn’t expected an answer. “Well, my hunch is that I could walk over there right now, stick my hand in that box, and pick out the right size without looking.”

The absurdity of it caught Hajime off-guard. He tried to laugh, but it came out more like cough. “Seriously?” he asked. “You’re being serious?”

The mattress squeaked as it rose. Nagito must have stood up. 

He leaned over Hajime’s bedside, his head hovering overhead and blocking the light. His hair clouded around his face and tumbled over his shoulders, loose strands reaching out.

“I’m the Ultimate Lucky Student. Of course I’m being serious. I mean, there’s always a chance that the polar opposite will happen and I’ll just get something even worse, but my luck cycle’s been pretty good so far this week.” 

Hajime’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. All he could do was nod and hope that cheeks would just stop burning. 

Nagito reached over and placed a hand on Hajime’s arm, or at least where he must have estimated his arm to be under the covers. It was more like his wrist. “Since you’re not feeling well, I’ll just run out and grab a replacement for you, so you won’t have to go to the trouble.” He grinned. “And at the end of the day, I’m none the wiser on who it’s meant for. Everyone wins.”

“I…” Hajime cleared his throat. “If you’d be willing to do that, that’d be a really big help.” 

“To be honest, I feel like doing a couple of your errands is the bare minimum.” Nagito lightly squeezed his grip before backing off. “I mean, I’m sure someone else could do much more than that!” 

Hajime groaned. “Come on, man, just take a compliment for once in your life.” 

“Well, you need anything else while I pop over there?” Nagito went towards the door. “I’ll get some water, too.”

As much as Hajime didn’t want to push his luck, he took the offer. “Uh, over in the pharmaceuticals aisle there’s some melatonin. That’d be nice, only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Ah, melatonin.” Nagito nodded solemnly, expression grave. “She’s an old friend of mine. We go way back.”

It wasn’t even a good joke, but Hajime couldn’t help but laugh. It helped ease the remaining crumbles of tension he still had in him. “Geez, why does that not surprise me at all?”

Nagito shrugged. “I’ve been telling you for weeks not that I’m the most ordinary person in this whole group, no matter what your talent ends up being. There’s no comparison.” 

“There you go again. Seriously. My new short term goal is going to get you to stop beating down on yourself.” 

Taking the doorknob, Nagito hummed. “I’ll be only a minute, okay?”

“Take your time.” Hajime centered back on his old friend, the ceiling. “Not like I’m going anywhere.” 

He heard Nagito’s raspy laugh, then the door open, then close.

Silence. 

Hajime closed his eyes. He thought. And slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you very much for reading, for your kudos, for your supportive comments... I love and read them all and I can't underestimate how much they kept me going through this. 
> 
> I also want to make it clear that I don't see myself as trans, but I am a person who wears binders. The concept of this story is from personal experience, but please let me know if I hit any incorrect points or if anything should be changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my own troubles with not being able to fit my current binders. Shit sucks. Also, I wanted an opportunity to write early-game Nagito. It's a fun side of his personality that doesn't usually get too much of a spotlight.


End file.
